


The Daffodils of Stafford Terrace

by Ballet_Shoe



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: First Night Together, Fluff, Foreplay, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Passion, Romance, Sex, Smut, Sub Freddie, Trust, a lot of kissing in between, dom Deacy, smut in chapter three, some talking in chapter one, warning: mention of ex-lover's abusive behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:09:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22776913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ballet_Shoe/pseuds/Ballet_Shoe
Summary: Freddie has just moved into his new Stafford Terrace house, and he also broke up with David Minns. He feels hurt, cold, and very tired of winter and of being lonely again. At the rehearsal, John is watching him and struggling with his own feelings and self-doubt, not knowing whether Freddie would want any love from him... but of course it is exactly what Freddie needs, as they find out - rather passionately - when they are finally alone together in Freddie's new house the night after the rehearsal.---------Basically it's a delightfully pointless smut with a fleur of romance, loveys - I hope it warms you in the last days before spring.:*
Relationships: John Deacon/Freddie Mercury
Comments: 74
Kudos: 89





	1. Chapter 1

It all started with a daffodil.

Freddie woke up way too early that morning, still exhausted after a few hours of dull hangover-induced nightmares. Lazy sunbeams were dancing on his face, and he sleepily covered his eyes with his arm, not quite ready to face the day. Despite the sun, the bedroom was agonizingly cold – _again_.

What time was it?.. Blast it, it shouldn’t be so sunny on February mornings, should it? It’s winter for god’s sake! It’s always bloody winter these days. And who the hell left the curtains open? Surely David knew that he hated…

Ah well. Right. There was no David.

Things started coming back to Freddie’s sleepy mind, piercing the veil of his drowse like cold fingers. He sighed and tossed in the sheets, hiding his face in the pillow. He didn’t want to think about that again, but the unwelcome memories poured in just like the sharp light of the morning, and there was no escaping them any longer.

Freddie definitely wasn’t the one to blame. He was just misunderstood… he was _always_ misunderstood, it was like some kind of curse. David had been getting incredibly difficult lately. It was bordering on impossible. He became cold, and rude, and he was viciously jealous all the time, and kept on demanding to be loved.

The thing was, Freddie did love him – he loved everyone really. He had so much love he could drown the whole world in it. And he would be happy to do this – but the world was so full of shit. Everyone was always whining how eager they were to be loved, but whenever you offered them actual love, they stepped all over you in return. They were always discontent. Asking for more and more. Hitting you. Screaming at you. Wanting to own you – as if it wasn’t enough that you gave yourself to them every time.

And then there was that boy Joe. What harm could he do?.. He was so pretty and sweet, and innocent and bold like a cute little kitten that would bite your fingers fiercely when you pet him. He didn’t know anything about life, and he’s never even been anywhere except for that gloomy little Midwest town of his. What was wrong about bringing him to London? Well of course he stayed at Freddie’s, where on earth would he get the money for a hotel, he was barely twenty-five! There was definitely no need to make such a scene.

The memories of it faded a bit and everything seemed all right now, but truth be told, Freddie got quite a scare when David hit him with that candle holder, and then again, despite seeing the blood. It wasn’t even the pain – although the scar still stung terribly – but the hurt of being treated that way. Surely he didn’t deserve that. If only he could have explained everything better, but David just wouldn’t listen.

Then the police came and made it all even worse. Freddie couldn’t face them – blood smeared all over his clothes, how shameful. They must have thought he was really one of those… _rock stars_ , you know. So he hid in the corner of his bedroom instead, covering his face and refusing to answer questions, until they left.

Soon after that, David left too, for good, and Joe didn’t take the scene well and asked for some cash to buy a plane ticket home. Freddie couldn’t blame him, but he was starting to feel so unhappy and miserable and lonely all over again. Everyone left. Everyone always left. He went to a party last night in a hope to find someone to take his mind off these things, but it didn’t work out, and he got home in a drunken haze – alone – in the small hours. He dragged himself to bed, and there was nobody to close the curtains for the night.

Freddie sighed again, realizing he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. He missed his cats. They would jump heavily onto his pillow early in the morning and start kneading his nape until he would turn around and grab them both, and then he would lie for a while, eyes closed, face hidden in the snug soothing softness of their warm fur. It would have been nice to do that now – well, if he hadn’t had to give them away when he moved here. Would they have taken to this new apartment?.. Freddie wasn’t really sure _he_ did.

He stared at the high ceiling for a while, shivering under his blankets, then swung his feet off the bed, and immediately made a face.

The new apartment didn’t even have the bloody carpets yet. How _extremely_ annoying.

In the bathroom Freddie shaved and then took a gloomy look at his own tired, red-eyed expression in the mirror. He ran his long fingers through his wet hair – it was much shorter now, but still long enough to curl vigorously after a shower. The high cheekbones, the short sideburns, the broad shoulders, the sinewy arms. The scar, still looking hideous on his temple, now that the hair was brushed away from it. Freddie looked himself in the eye. Why was he never good enough? Was he too much? Too over the top?.. There must have been _some_ reason he was always so deprived of love.

Having dressed without much care, Freddie slipped downstairs for a cup of tea – which he had to make himself, simply outrageous – and moodily looked around the sitting room. His bedroom was almost perfect, everything just like he wanted it, but the ground floor was still a mess. There was hardly any wallpaper on the walls yet, and no furniture at all, just some ugly boxes and crates, and so much dust everywhere. The bloody lights in the kitchen didn’t work, he couldn’t even pour himself a glass of water last night – he ended up breaking the glass and wrecking the tap in anger. He knew he needed to call someone to have something done about it, but this David and Joe business left him strangely aloof, and no one of his so-called friends offered to do it for him, so nothing had been fixed for days.

A fucking mess – just like his entire life. And besides it was cold. He was always cold in London, but winters were especially excruciating. The heating in this new house was a joke, and most of the days were so gloomy and dark – the first sunny morning being the one when he forgot to lower the curtains. Sipping his poorly brewed tea, Freddie wondered whether there would ever be spring again at all. So far it was hard to believe there would.

Suddenly Freddie realized that the thought of spring didn’t just come to his head out of the blue. There was something… something unexpected?.. A scent? No, not possible, he must be going – slightly – mad, there was no way on earth he could smell… daffodils?.. What, in here?!

And then Freddie saw them – the little bright yellow bouquet in a white porcelain jug half-hidden in a small niche near the window. They were not the large, velvety golden daffodils you get in flower shops – just a few tiny, nondescript things with soft half-transparent petals, the kind that would sprout on their own in a garden that has never really been tended to.

The delicate grassy fragrance enveloped Freddie and made him smile involuntarily for the first time in a while. The housekeeper must have left them in the sitting room after she cleaned the upstairs yesterday.

Unable to stop himself, Freddie reached out and picked up a dainty blossom. He stroked the petals with his fingertips, as if touching a lover’s lips, and then startled when he heard the loud sound of a car horn.

He almost forgot he was being picked up to go to the studio at ten. Draining his cup in one last gulp, Freddie absent-mindedly pushed the little daffodil behind his ear, grabbed the coat and leaped outside.

“What do you mean by _what the hell are you playing_? What’s wrong with you?!”

“Oh come on, can’t you hear it, it’s just _shit_! Caca! It’s not even slow, it’s _creeping_ at the moment!”

“I’m playing it exactly like it is on the record Roger! It’s you who are playing it like… like an _octopus_ who got high!”

The rehearsal had been going on for quite a while, and for one thing, it didn’t go well at all.

Of course, Freddie was certain it was his fault as well. By the time he arrived at the studio, he was frustrated again. His piano was out of tune and he had to wait for nearly forty minutes, boiling with anger, while it was fixed. Roger was late and seemed to have hangover too – he and Brian started bickering straight away.

Usually Freddie was the peacemaker, but today he was too lost in his own sorrows to care. He stayed out of everything, and so things quickly escalated.

To make everything worse, the band didn’t really have an agenda for the session. It was a few weeks until the next leg of the tour would start, and they though it would be a good idea to meet up and have a vaguely gig-like rehearsal in the studio before they got too rusty on their mid-tour break. They could also start recording a thing or two for the next LP due to come out later that year… that is, if anyone had bothered to bring in any song ideas, which no one did.

All in all, it was an utterly useless session, nothing worked out, and tempers flared.

“For God’s sake, wake up and do something, Fred!” Brian raged. “Can’t you hear it’s a bloody nightmare? What the hell have you all been doing with your time, boozing it away?!”

Freddie dived out of his uneasy thoughts. He hated being scolded.

“What now, do you expect us all to be _perfect_ before we even try?!” he erupted. “Listen, I’m so sick and tired of you all, I just wish…”

Suddenly he felt warm pressure on his arm.

“Hey,” Deacy’s voice was soft. “I’m going out for a ciggie. I think you’re coming with me.”

Roger cast away his drumsticks, stood up and left the room, and Brian turned away defiantly with an angry puff, the Red Special swinging around his neck.

For the lack of a better option, Freddie thought it best to obey.

The two of them stood outside the studio in a dingy side street. The sunny weather of the morning was long gone, the low winter sky was gray, and it was starting to drizzle. John was trying to light up a match, but the wind blew in strong gusts, flapping the collar of his red and blue checkered shirt and puffing out the flame.

Freddie was shivering with cold, his arms wrapped tight around his chest. He was still wound up, but John’s interruption was a wise move. Being in a foul mood, Freddie could have said a thousand nasty things to the boys that he would have regretted the next moment.

“Thank you for stopping me,” he casually said, trying to keep his teeth from clattering. “I’m really not myself today.”

“It’s all right,” Deacy still struggled with the matches. “Hey, can you hold your hand right here for me? The bloody wind… yes, just shield it like that…”

Freddie’s fingers were almost touching John’s face, while the bassist was inhaling hurriedly, trying to get the cigarette lit. John looked so endearing when he was focused like that, the bow of his wide upper lip curved, the fluffy curls of auburn hair falling over his forehead. His face with soft laugh lines and little brown birthmarks wore its habitual amiable expression.

He was so familiar and so reliable. He was a friend.

Despite the quarrels, the band was always a safe haven for Freddie, and John had always been the safest of all. It was John who made him feel like being home every time they recorded or toured. It was John who checked his outbursts and grounded him, in the smoothest way possible. Just like he did five minutes ago in the studio.

There was no denying it – John brought warmth.

If only Freddie could feel like that with any one of his pathetic bunch of boyfriends.

If only he could ever be really loved, for what he was.

“Freddie?.. You can remove the hand now,” Deacy chuckled, and Freddie blinked, dropping his arms and looking away.

Acting ridiculous again. What a day. He should have just stayed in bed.

“Sorry, I zoned out,” he felt he was due to give some kind of explanation. “Didn’t sleep a wink.”

“I hope it was worth it,” John grinned.

“Oh no, not in… that way. I’m… I’m actually… by myself again.”

John turned to look at him.

“Oh, I’m… sorry, Freddie. Are you alright?”

Freddie nodded. He waited for the inevitable questions to follow, and dreaded them. He felt so vulnerable bringing up the subjects of love, or loneliness, or relationships.

He even started thinking further ahead – inventing a way to politely suggest changing the subject, when he realized that John actually didn’t say a thing. He was just smoking his cigarette and watching Freddie with sympathetic eyes that always seemed to have a sparkle of a smile lingering in their slightly downturned outer corners. John was simply – being there for him, without asking to confide anything.

Freddie almost forgot what it felt like. With his boyfriends, he was always either bombarded with questions – or completely ignored. There was no in between.

The silence went on, and it was friendly and comforting. They stood like that for a couple of minutes, involuntarily huddling together a little from the cold wind.

“Right, anyhow, you look a bit worse for wear today,” John finally commented. “Shall we call it a day? Brian is being a vicious bore anyway. It’s not like we’re getting anything done.”

Contrary to what he feared minutes ago, Freddie now felt an overwhelming desire to actually talk. Maybe John could understand him after all. Maybe he wouldn’t judge.

“No, it’s all right, I just… I…” Freddie didn’t know how to phrase it. He was always so bad with words when it involved discussing his own feelings.

“Mhm?” John mumbled encouragingly.

Freddie kept silent, and after a while John turned to him again and looked into his face with half-mock concern. Looking closer, he stopped smiling.

“What’s this? On your temple? It looks fresh. Ouch. Shit. Freddie?”

“It’s n-nothing,” Freddie blushed violently with shame, his desire to talk immediately forgotten. He was spooked by John’s question like a wild bird. “You know, I’m so clumsy. It’s this bloody new Stafford Terrace apartment. The lights in the kitchen don’t seem to work, and I was drunk a couple of days ago and hit my face on the open cupboard door in the darkness. It’s nothing really.”

“If you say so,” John replied after a pause, still looking at the scar, his brows knit together.

Freddie couldn’t meet his eye. He was so tired. Why was everyone so dead set on making him feel miserable? Couldn’t they all keep their stupid questions to themselves?.. He would have probably told John about the fight – but not like this! Not first thing. In his own time. And now he was forced into telling a lie, and a precious moment of confidence and peace was ruined.

“My life isn’t as easy as yours, all right?” he snapped before he could check himself. “It’s… it’s complicated.”

They spent a few moments in silence, Freddie’s cheeks still burning.

David was right, he always made everything worse. He felt so small and so lost. He desperately wanted to go inside, go home, but he was too embarrassed to make the first move.

“Who says my life is easy?” John finally asked, stubbing out his cigarette.

“I didn’t… look, I didn’t mean it like that,” Freddie tried to hurriedly explain himself in a high-pitched, guilty voice. “It’s just that you are loved, and I’m never loved. You’ve got everything you ever wanted in life. Sorry, I… don’t mind me, I’m rambling.”

With his eyes still cast to the ground, Freddie felt John was looking at him again. Somehow they were still standing way too close to each other, even after the argument.

“No,” John said quietly. “No, since you want to know, I don’t have _everything_ I ever wanted.”

Something in his voice made Freddie look up. It felt… odd. He’d say it was ‘good odd’ rather than ‘bad odd’, but it definitely was… well, very ‘ _odd_ odd’. Freddie tried, but he just couldn’t place it. It was like fitting an elephant into a snuffbox.

“Anyone’s life is complicated, Freddie. There are things I… I can’t have either. And I do want them so bad sometimes, you know? But I can’t just _make_ them happen, even if you think I’m so perfectly almighty.”

Suddenly John peered closer at Freddie, and then quickly raised his hand, obviously set on touching Freddie’s face.

Freddie froze in shock. A hot rush of blood to his head momentarily blurred his vision, and his knees felt weak. What on earth?.. How?! This couldn’t be happening. He was getting properly delirious in his lovesick and lonely despair.

Or… could it? Could it really? Could _John_ , of all people?.. Their John? _His_ John?..

Freddie parted his suddenly very dry lips to say something, deafened by his own wild heartbeat in his ears and throat. He felt a warm palm on his cold, wind-beaten cheek.

Next moment John picked something from behind Freddie’s ear, casually brushing away a short curly lock of black hair.

“The flower was about to fall out,” he smiled, seemingly oblivious to the strained silence. “Are they in season already?”

 _Shit._ Freddie completely forgot about the daffodil behind his ear. That’s why everyone was giving him weird looks all day. _Fuck._ And to think that for one second there he thought that it could be… How utterly ridiculous. _Freddie_ was nothing but ridiculous. He was a joke.

John smelled the delicate lime-yellow petals and then held out the daffodil to Freddie.

“Here you are. Let’s go back inside?”

“Right,” Freddie crumpled the flower and shoved it into his pocket. The sudden frustration – or disappointment?.. – that came over him made his eyes sting. “Right.”

John was already at the door when Freddie caught up with him, discreetly bringing his hand to his brow. His fingers were trembling slightly, the damned daffodil scent clinging to his skin.

Suddenly John stopped and turned around, and Freddie bumped into his chest, still slow on the uptake after the emotional rollercoaster he had just gone through. He raised his head to meet the bassist’s mild gray eyes.

In one very brisk movement John raised his hand and gently brushed Freddie’s cheek again, only this time it was for real. Freddie was pretty sure there wasn’t a second daffodil tucked behind his ear.

Before Freddie could respond, or react, John turned around, pushed the door open and let the hot stuffy air of the studio and the noise of the rehearsal envelop them both like an old velvet cloak.

Freddie followed. He didn’t really know what to think.

John’s touch was just like that whiff of daffodil scent he caught earlier, standing in the middle of his messy sitting room: impossible, out of place, almost surreal. And yet, _and yet_ it definitely existed. He could still feel it on his cheek – it was warm, and caring, and it was everything he needed.

Freddie’s heart skipped a beat.

Maybe, just _maybe_ it wasn’t going to be such a lousy day after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so grateful to all of you for your comments and likes on the first chapter - it's been a while since I posted my previous story, and it was immensely rewarding to see familiar nicknames again, almost a year later, and new ones too! Thank you for you love - and here is some love in return. Please join our dear boys in their post-rehearsal frolics... Who's going to kiss whom, what do you think?;)

“Here we are,” John cast another look at the ceiling lamp and jumped off the chair. “It’s going to be alright now.”

Freddie hit the switch, and the kitchen was immediately filled with warm light. He almost squealed – very quietly – with glee.

Finally something was back to normal, for the first time after moving to Stafford Terrace.

It was nothing short of a miracle. He didn’t expect it to happen at all. After that weird short conversation outside the studio, they went back in and finished the rehearsal, but just when Freddie picked his stuff and was about to call for his car, Deacy caught up with him and took the receiver out of his hands.

“I’ll drive you,” he explained. “We need to take a look at those kitchen lights of yours.”

Freddie was of instinctively yielding nature, especially when he heard authority in anyone’s voice, and at first he made a few obedient steps after John, but then he reconsidered and decided to show he wouldn’t be bossed around.

Or offered help out of pity.

“John, I’m perfectly… perfectly capable to fix them myself,” Freddie slowed down and protested, rather hesitantly. To be honest, he was hoping against hope that John would insist.

“Oh yes you are, and I’m the Queen of Sheba,” John laughed and beckoned him closer. “Come on, move. If I’m offering to do it, that means I want to do it, all right? Besides we can’t really afford to have you electrocute yourself _before_ the tour ends. Who’s going to do the singing, bloody _Roger_?”

Freddie’s heart leapt, and soon he allowed himself to be tucked into the front seat of John’s car and was chattering all the way to Stafford Terrace – which wasn’t very far. 

And that was the explanation of why he was now watching John climb up, do something with the lamp in the dusk twilight of the kitchen – slight clinking and muttering ensued – and then announce to Freddie that everything would be fine from now on.

“How did you do it?” Freddie breathed out excitedly.

John snorted.

“Freddie, you’re something,” he dusted the chair with his hand and put it back in place. “You’ve been stuck here in the darkness for days, when all you had to do was get your ass up on the chair and screw the lightbulbs _all_ the way in?”

“And how would I know that?!” Freddie was indignant. “And even if I did, I still have not the slightest bloody idea how to do it. _I_ am not an engineer, I’m a performer!”

“What, haven’t you screwed a nut in your life?”

“Why, I like where this conversation is going…”

“Oh shut it,” John was laughing now. “Do you have anything to drink?”

Freddie made a show of dancing over to the fridge and proudly produced a Moet.

“I meant… water, maybe?”

“Oh dear,” Freddie made wide eyes at John from behind the fridge door. “The tap doesn’t work either… some villain wrecked it, but if you’re willing to do some plumbing while you here…”

“Don’t hold your breath. Give me the bottle,” John leaned against the fridge and in a couple of swift movements popped the champagne cork open. “Where are your glasses?”

“In the sitting room,” said Freddie in an uncharacteristically small voice.

“Let’s go get them then, come on,” John cheerfully replied, not sensing the catch.

“In the sitting room?!” repeated the bassist, looking woefully around at the dozens of boxes and crates that were piling up on the floor, the window sills and the scarce furniture.

“Well, _technically_ …” Freddie was in his tiny falsetto mode now, “…they’re here. Somewhere. Um.”

John prodded the closest crate with his foot without much hope.

“Okay,” he ventured. “I’ll go get the cups, and you get something for us to sit on. I think I can see a chair under than box there…”

Freddie lowered his head.

“I’m such a rubbish host,” he said quietly. “I’m so sorry, John.”

“Oh come on, Freddie! I’m not Marie Antoinette, it will do.”

“You’re my _friend_. It’s _important_.”

“Yes, and I won’t stop being your friend even if we drink this champagne out of tea cups,” John grinned and made his way back to the kitchen.

He saw a tea set straight away in an exquisite milky wooden cupboard decorated with mother-of-pearl panels, and carefully took two cups out. The porcelain was so thin that you could almost see through it.

Everything is this house was either a mess or incredibly beautiful, both just like its new owner.

On his way back to the sitting room, John heard a quiet, but very persistent and curiously unexpected noise.

In the centre of the room Freddie was attacking the biggest box, like a young excited cat – scratching frantically at the wide duct tape holding it together.

John stared.

“I’m getting… us… something to seat on,” Freddie grunted through clenched teeth. “This… sticky bitch… just won’t… come off!”

Completely frustrated by the defeat, Freddie started viciously clawing at the cardboard itself, and soon with a triumphant cry he ripped the box in half.

The sight was incredibly funny.

“Are you hiding a sofa in there?” John watched on, highly amused.

“I have something better, to make up for the glasses,” Freddie purred, and after ferreting inside for a bit, he pulled out in one swift move something that resembled an enormously large heap of pristine white feathers.

“Don’t tell me it’s your new stage costume?..”

“No-o, silly, it’s my _throw_!”

“Your _what_?”

Freddie gingerly unfolded the heap, which turned out to be something like a soft feathery blanket, shook it lightly, and laid it out on the floor near the radiator. Then he gracefully sat down on it, tucking his legs under him, much like a Persian price, and tapped the space next to him.

“My wonderfully soft regal throw, where only my most cherished guests are allowed to sit. Come sit by me, and let’s finally drink that champagne before it’s turned sour.”

John hesitated.

“Freddie, I’m afraid to crush it, it’s so… delicate…”

“Nonsense, just try not to fidget too much! Come here. Please?..”

In the twilight, Freddie’s dark eyes pleaded, his voice was soft – and his entire being was soft, and tender, and at one with his phantasmagoric throw. Sitting still, not saying a word, he was strangely beckoning, luring John to come closer, and closer, and closer.

John didn’t dare to admit to himself that it looked like a dream came true.

Almost mesmerized, he obeyed and carefully sat down next to Freddie.

“And so he was so fucking _proud_ when he barged into our booth and said, Fred,” Freddie posed with his hand on his chest, imitating the pathos of the situation, “I’ve got my hands on seventy excellent fur coats we can resale, and they’re bringing them in right now… and I said, Roger darling, take a good look around our booth… I swear, you should have seen his face, it never occurred to him that seventy bloody fur coats need to be kept _somewhere_! When all we had was – what – ten square feet packed with heaps of junk as it was?”

John was laughing so hard he could feel his cheeks starting to hurt. He hadn’t had such a good time in quite a while. He felt so carefree sitting next to Freddie, listening to him chattering away happily and sharing goofy stories of his late 60s antics with Roger.

It was hard to believe it, but in all the years they had been in the band together they rarely had a chance to just sit and talk like that. They spent hours, days, months touring, or in the studio, and of course they talked, but there was always an agenda – the recording process, the show, the stupidity of a local sound crew, the _weather_ for god’s sake. They never had the luxury of just chatting.

Besides, Freddie was always busy with his private affairs. His string of boyfriends and one night stands kept him engaged in his free time, and naturally the other band members didn’t ask to be included. These days after the show they parted their ways for the night, and it would have never occurred to John to intrude.

And then again, what exactly could he offer?.. Freddie had always been nice to him, even clinging to him in a way, but he was so… superior. John was normally rather confident, and Freddie was right when he said earlier that day that John _was_ loved – despite his soft features, general quietness and mild character John did know how to get what he wanted almost every time.

_Almost_ every time. 

He was often the one to initiate a relationship, and he knew his ways, but Freddie was just… something so completely different. A faraway vision John had no real intention of approaching, ever. Despite their long-time friendship, Freddie seemed somehow ethereal – well, at least until that very recent moment when John happened to touch his cheek to recover the daffodil – and then once more, recklessly, just to prove to himself that he could do it. To prove that Freddie was actually real. Touchable.

He had yearned for Freddie almost since the very first moment he set eyes on him, but he had never felt so in love with him as he did when Freddie responded to the touch with that strangely desperate, wide-eyed glance, and it actually seemed for a moment that there was _something_ there between them, which could…

“So we had to stuff our room with these fur coats, and they were everywhere! In the bathroom you had to _step_ on the fur coats to take a leak… We had to make Brian store some at his place, and his mother wouldn’t talk to him for a week! And then people literally stopped coming to see us and didn’t want to talk to us because we started every conversation with asking them whether they needed a coat or knew someone who… oh blast it!” Freddie wailed and fidgeted. “Oh no, I’ve spilled the champagne… oh gross… look at me, what an _oaf_!”

Freddie ran his long fingers through the smeared feathers of the throw with a sad little squeal.

John felt a rush of warmth to his heart. He hadn’t really seen Freddie being himself since their very early years. Maybe it was three _cups_ of champagne, or the darkness, or the pleasure of being cared for, but this Freddie was so vulnerable and so precious. All his barriers were down.

And to think that someone could actually hurt him?

Carried away by his thoughts, John reached out and gently brushed Freddie’s temple with his thumb.

Freddie froze, but didn’t look up.

“It wasn’t the cupboard door, was it?..” John whispered.

Even in the darkness, he could see Freddie blush furiously and look further away.

“How do you mean?” he finally replied, very quietly.

“The scar. Was it David?..”

Freddie was silent, but he didn’t move away from the soothing touch of John’s slightly coarse fingertips.

“You don’t have to talk, Freddie. Although come to think of it… you know… I do need you to tell me his new address.”

“What?.. Why?..” Freddie looked up in surprise, and saw a slightly mischievous look that came into John’s eyes.

“Because I’m going over there to murder him?”

Freddie giggled quietly, shyly, little dimples forming on his cheeks, and lowered his long black eyelashes once again. He didn’t know what to do with himself. Everything felt so… good. So easy.

“Seriously Freddie. You need to stop allowing people to treat you like that.”

“But they won’t treat me any other way, John,” he sighed softly. “And I… I just don’t want to be alone, I guess.”

Something came over John, something he couldn’t fight. A feeling that overwhelmed him was like a wave of head-spinning scent of April gardens after a short and wild thunderstorm.

He grasped the back of Freddie’s neck, quickly leaned forward and kissed him.

John’s heart leapt the moment he felt Freddie’s warm unresisting lips under his. He suddenly realized that he imagined this moment so often – secretly, subconsciously even – almost every time he watched these lips brushing the silver head of a microphone, so close, so within his reach, and yet so infinitely impossible. He didn’t even force the kiss to unravel, it was enough to simply feel that alluring pressure.

Freddie was the first to tear away with a half-surprised, half-ecstatic sigh.

“What do you…“ Freddie whispered incredulously. “Are you… are you serious?”

“Yes,” John muttered and covered Freddie’s mouth with his again, unable to hold back or to explain anything. This time, the kiss blossomed. Freddie’s lips parted at the insistent touch of John’s tongue and his hands went around John’s neck in one flowing move.

Kissing Freddie was heaven. He tasted of champagne and of hot, breathtaking happiness.

It was also excruciating. Waiting to do it for so long, and then having him, all of him, in your arms and on your lips like that, feeling his scent and warmth, hearing his gentle sighs when he emerged from the kiss to gasp for air – it was almost physically painful to control yourself and not to devour him whole.

As the kiss grew deeper, John gently lowered Freddie onto the soft feathers beneath them, and Freddie squirmed a little, tickled by their airy touch. John shuddered at the sensation of their bodies grinding against each other for one fleeting moment. Freddie’s hands were stroking his nape, diving under his shirt collar with gentle, seductive confidence.

The kisses went on, and John felt as if he jumped off a cliff and was soaring in the thin air without the sense of direction. Why didn’t he consider making this first step ever before?.. He always thought he was too plain, too young, too conformist for the exquisite, sophisticated Freddie. It took some time to finally see the vulnerable, touch-starving boy under the glittering disguise. It took some more time to dare to offer that touch.

John buried his long fingers in Freddie’s thick curls, pulling at them, tilting Freddie’s head further back to have full access to the tender skin on his neck, and Freddie closed his eyes dreamily, enjoying the light wet kisses dropped along his jawline. The juniper smell clinging to the soft spot beneath Freddie’s earlobe mixed with the heat of his body and the sweet patchouli fragrance of the throw, and John was gradually getting light-headed with the sensual overdose.

As if reading his mind, Freddie opened his eyes and gently broke their mesmerizing closeness. Raising on his elbow, he looked at John with misted, pleading, and yet very serious eyes.

“John,” he whispered. “What are we doing?”

John shrugged. He was trying to catch his breath.

“Making out on a rug?”

“And I’d be happy to do it all night, dear,” Freddie wiped his brow. ‘”But – seriously – what is this all about?”

“How about – it’s two people who are friends and who realized they… really fancy each other?” John rolled over and lay back on the feathery throw, smiling, his hands under his head. “Well, that is, if you fancy _me_.”

“Did it feel like I don’t? It’s just…”

“What’s that?”

“Well, where do I start? Uhm… okay, I’ve always been the pansy of the bouquet, but I never thought you were… much into guys?”

“I’m not,” John reached out and pulled Freddie to his chest. “I’m into _you_.”

“I never though… I never though you could be. It’s so wonderfully unexpected. But if you’re sure…,” Freddie brushed his lips on John’s collarbone. His concern was evaporating, replaced once again with coy playfulness. “Oh _god_ , if I had known I had a chance, I would have flirted with you all the way, my dear!”

“As if you weren’t,” John snorted. “You little spoilt thing. Every time you crashed into me and leaned back on me on stage I thought I’d die – I was lucky to have my guitar to cover up my… ahem, embarrassment. Freddie, you can’t even imagine how incredibly hot you are mid-song...”

Now that Freddie’s head was resting on his chest, John couldn’t stop stroking his hair.

“Says a man who _offensively_ licks his fingers while playing?!” Freddie giggled, and then turned serious again. “But if you’re… really sure, then I… I just wish you had kissed me sooner.”

“So do I,” John tightened the hug. “But I’m going to make up for it. How about if I kiss every inch of your skin right now… would you like that?..”

Freddie twisted in his hands in a sensual, feline manner and pressed his hot lips to John’s once more. It was a playful kiss at first, but then something in the air shifted slightly, and next moment John was almost biting into Freddie’s mouth, rolling heavily over him. Freddie responded with passion, holding John’s head down with his hand, messing up his hair, urging him to deepen the kiss.

It was as if they both were finally hit with the realization that everything was happening for real.

Aroused by this kissing frenzy and by Freddie’s closeness, John was starting to feel desperately uncomfortable in his jeans. He wanted to touch Freddie so bad, but he still couldn’t believe he was actually entitled to. Shreds of misplaced embarrassment for being this horny towards – _a friend?_ – were still lurking in the back of his mind, as a last barrier before fully giving in.

This low-key moral agony ended when John felt Freddie’s fingers on his crotch. The first tentative squeeze was rather gentle, but it sent John shivering. Oh, just how long he had been wanting to feel exactly that. How long he had wanted it to be no one else but Freddie touching him.

Nothing was holding them back now. Lust was rushing wildly through John’s body, like fire through a dry woodland. Growling subtly, he drove his leg between Freddie’s thighs, parting them, and almost wailed when Freddie started grinding against him, slowly at first, then curling his slender leg around John’s waist for leverage. John shuddered with desire at the thought of how flexible he was.

“What would you like me to do dear?” Freddie whispered hoarsely in his ear. “I can do _anything_. Just name it.”

John caught his wrists, pinning him to the half-destroyed mess of white feathers. Freddie’s dark eyes glinted as he looked up, and his half-opened lips were already puffy with all the kissing – and the excitement. He looked magnetic. Everything about him begged to be made love to.

With sudden clarity, John realized it was exactly what was going to happen. Half an hour ago he would have never believed that he would even dare to kiss Freddie – and now he knew he wasn’t going anywhere for the night, and he was going to wake up tomorrow right here, in this house, holding his beautiful lover in his arms.

He made the last effort to collect his thoughts. He needed to take it slower. And he definitely wanted everything to be as perfect as Freddie deserved it.

_Perfect_ didn’t include accidentally bumping their heads on a crate.

“Let’s take a look at your bedroom, shall we?.. You said it’s pretty.”

“Oh…” Freddie was still out of breath. “Sure, if you want to, but…”

“Mm?” unable to wait for an answer for too long, John went on kissing that perfect jawline again. The scent of Freddie’s skin made him dizzy.

“It’s just that it’s so cold there… I don’t know why, probably because this whole bloody house is a nuisance. It’s the coldest room I’ve ever slept in. Why don’t we just stay here?..”

“I’ll keep you warm,” John reassured. “And I want to look at you, and to hold you like I want to, and not to feel that box right there sticking into my shin.”

Freddie sighed and fidgeted under John’s body a little, although it didn’t feel like he wanted to move away. It felt more like… a moment of _shyness_?

John pressed closer to banish all thoughts of escape.

“You’re making it… so nice,” Freddie finally uttered. “Why? Everyone else has been… less thoughtful.”

John kissed the sharp cheekbone, then the sideburn, then – carefully – the pinky scar.

“I’ve waited long enough,” he whispered. “I don’t want a quickie on a rug. Freddie, I want to make love to you.”

Freddie closed his eyes with a sigh and trembled a little.

That was something he hadn’t heard for quite a while. A thousand thoughts swarmed into his head all at once, tearing at his desire-ridden mind. He felt almost nervous – but in such an exhilarating way that he could hardly breathe.

The gentle warmth of John’s hand carefully slipping under his t-shirt snatched him out of his reverie and made him desperately self-conscious.

“John?” he whispered back urgently. “I can’t tell you how much I crave to take all my clothes off for you, but… would it be alright if I take a shower first? I feel so filthy after that rehearsal, I’m covered in sweat, and…”

“Well, filthy is fine with me,” John grinned, “But if you insi…”

“I promise I’ll be quick,” Freddie slipped out of the embrace, jumped to his feet and ran up the stairs.

He knew that John had seen him in all states, conditions and moods throughout those eight years they had known each other, but this was different. At the very least, John deserved a lover who didn’t have champagne spilled all over his stale stinky rehearsal clothes.

Hopping on the cold marble floor of the bathroom, Freddie was taking off his jeans when a faded yellow flake fell out of his pocket.

The daffodil.

Freddie picked it up and carefully placed it on the shelf above the sink next to his toothbrushes.

For a moment, he caught his flushed, breathless, bright-eyed reflection in the mirror.

Then his heart thumped again, and he hurriedly turned the water in the shower on.


	3. Chapter 3

A beautiful pink marble Cartier clock was ticking peacefully on the mantelpiece.

John was standing in the middle of Freddie’s bedroom, which looked like a pretty jewelry box, trying to do something with his time. He could hear the sound of running water from the bathroom, and he tried not to think about Freddie taking a shower. He was probably standing there with his head thrown back, his full lips open, hot water splashing all over his face and into his mouth, while his lean body…

John _really_ needed a distraction.

He looked around the room in the dim light of the nightstand lamp, taking in the makeup table, the delicate decorations and the beautiful Japanese drawings on the wall. It was a lovely room – very Freddie – but it was indeed very cold. London wasn’t the warmest place in winter, and John was used to cold houses being quite the norm, but this was something outrageous.

He searched for the radiator, and there it was under the window right next to the bed.

John touched the white metal and was surprised to find it icy cold. This house _was_ a mess and needed some serious plumbing, unless…

Struck by a sudden idea, John crouched down, looked closer, and with an impatient click of the tongue he twisted the tiny lever that controlled the pipes.

Oh, _Freddie_. Shivering in his bedroom for days because of _this_.

The silly kitten didn’t even know how to unblock a radiator. Well, there was probably somebody around to do it for him every time.

John felt warm inside at the thought that he was currently being that somebody.

He was still kneeling on the floor, his hand pressed to the radiator to check if it’s getting hotter, when he heard light footsteps behind him.

“I’ve fixed your heating,” he said without turning around. “You won’t be cold anymore.”

“You’re so kind, my dear,” Freddie’s voice was very soft, and yet John felt a fluttering wave of excitement flow over him.

He waited until Freddie came close, slowly, hesitantly, and only then allowed himself to turn and look.

Freddie stood above him, barefoot, wearing only a pair of skin-tight black flares, the kind he used to wear for the black part of their gigs in the pre-leotard era. He was looking down on John, dark eyes gleaming like a starry midsummer sky. His glossy black curls were framing his chiseled face like a halo.

He was breathtakingly beautiful.

Still kneeling, John placed his hands on Freddie’s shins and gently but firmly worked his way up his slender satin-clad thighs, and then higher still towards his waist. Finally, John’s thumbs dived under Freddie’s belt to rest on his slightly prominent hip bones – and a moment later, he started rubbing the bare skin around them in slow circles.

John bit his lip as he widened the circles – he could feel the goosebumps forming on Freddie’s skin under his touch. Popping open the belt button to ease the access, he allowed his hands to slip down Freddie’s belly.

The satin yielded, and before he knew it, John greedily pressed his lips to the patch of naked skin before him. It was an urge he simply couldn’t resist. Freddie’s dark downy _fur_ tickled his face, and John nuzzled at it, turned on by the quiet and yet lusty sighs that were leaving Freddie’s lips.

Already sighing like that – and to think that John hadn’t even done _anything_ yet. He merely blew out some hot air, pressing his mouth to the black satin.

That was going to be an _eventful_ night.

John stood up, meeting Freddie’s eyes, heavy-lidded with passion. He felt Freddie’s hands making their way under his shirt, untucking it, unbuttoning it. Gently rubbing his nipples, rolling them between fingers. Then stroking all the way down to his belt, unbuttoning his jeans, softly pushing them down – while John did the same to the black satin that was clasping Freddie’s thighs.

They were standing very close, slowly undressing and caressing each other.

It felt so incredibly hot to just stand like that, fully naked now, skin to skin, eye to eye, sensing the arousal and gently fueling it for each other. Their hands explored, enveloped, rubbed, and soon a flushed Freddie swayed forward, gasping for breath, making John grab the wall behind them for support.

“Come here,” John whispered, wrapping an arm around Freddie’s waist and leading him towards the bed.

There John was the first to lie down, feeling the refreshingly cool bedsheets under his bare back.

“Come here,” he repeated, stretching out his arms, “come to me, Freddie.”

John half-closed his eyes as his exquisite, lithe lover carefully lowered himself upon his chest, warm lips seeking for a kiss, and then another one. And one more. Sweeter. Closer. Longer.

Kissing Freddie, holding him, feeling his warm weight and his excitement made John’s heart thump and then skip a beat. He still couldn’t believe he had all that, just for himself. He cupped Freddie’s face and broke the kiss, feeling a sharp desire to take another look at him again, to absorb what he saw.

“What’s that?” Freddie’s eyes glinted, as he delicately kissed John’s palm.

“I just wanted to look at you.”

“Oh but haven’t you seen me?” Freddie giggled and hid his face on John’s neck.

With a smile, John stroke his hair, then his nape. His palms slid further down, from the shoulder blades to the lower back and then to the curve of Freddie’s perfectly round buttocks.

_All mine, oh gods._

“I hope I’m not too heavy for you dear?” Freddie whispered, enjoying the touch.

Instead of answering, John greedily squeezed the soft, cool flesh under his hands.

Freddie squealed with delight.

“Getting possessive, are we? I like that…”

“You have no idea,” John muttered, searching for his lips again. As the kisses deepened, John’s hands started moving with a firmer and more urgent pressure.

He shuddered with desire when Freddie spread his thighs, sprawling on top of him.

It was a gentle offering of everything that John craved.

John looked deep into the dark almond-shaped eyes full of liquid fire, and watched them half-close with delight as he resumed his motions. His hands moved slowly now, exploring the most secret, sensitive patches of Freddie’s skin. He was savouring every moment, and so was Freddie, moving his thighs gently to meet John’s caresses.

This languid grinding of their bodies against each other had them both getting _really_ turned on already. Probably too much so.

“You’ll have to guide me a little, honey,” John whispered breathlessly. “I want to do it the way you like it… but don’t raise your hopes too high, I’ll get what _I_ want too,” he chuckled.

Freddie licked his lips. A slightly mischievous smile formed upon them. He rose a little, stretching over John to reach something from the bedside cabinet, and then returned to John’s chest, giving him a long lusty kiss.

Distracted by the sensation, John missed the soft click of a bottle cap opening. Then Freddie softly caught John’s right hand, and John felt something pleasantly cool and very slick being spread over it in long, wet rubs.

He groaned when he realized Freddie was lubing his fingers for him.

Freddie was doing a meticulous job of it. He sat up to make sure John had a full view of his movements. Carefully squeezing the bottle once more, he massaged every little bone in John’s sinewy fingers, curling his dripping wet palm around them, sliding up and down. 

“That’s about how I like it,” he whispered.

John placed his hands under Freddie’s thighs and pulled him closer, and when Freddie gracefully lay down again, his belly was on John’s chest, and his silky lips ended up brushing against John’s temple.

John regretted this immediately, because the moment his fingers came in contact with Freddie’s skin and started gliding over it in soft slick circles, Freddie breathed out his first low moan right into his ear. It wasn’t particularly loud, but it was too close, too intimate, and the vibration of it made John’s head spin. Biting his lips, John started rubbing harder, narrowing the circles, trying not to go too fast. Freddie’s breath was scorching hot, and it became deliciously rapid when John’s fingers slipped in for the first tentative, gentle stretch.

It was only to be expected, but somehow John wasn’t quite ready for Freddie being so vocal. The full, ripe, trembling sounds dropping off his lips straight into John’s ear every time John softly pushed his fingers into Freddie’s slowly yielding body were intoxicating. Freddie sounded so innocent – so desperately virginal, so off guard – that if he hadn’t known better, John would have sworn he was corrupting a demure angel who has never been touched this way. And yet, at the same time there was something incredibly sinful about those desperate, breathy noises – a vibe that went straight to John’s spine, waking a primeval yearning in his body. This yearning made him thrust deeper simply to make Freddie moan louder, and Freddie responded with rubbing hard against John’s chest in sync with the rhythm, letting him feel how aroused he now was.

After a while that stopped being enough, and Freddie sat up and started rolling his hips to get the most out of John’s motions. The cool air tickled John’s skin where Freddie had been clinging to him a moment ago, and John realized his chest and belly were already wet and sticky. He wasn’t sure if it was him, or Freddie, or probably both of them starting to give in to the intensifying tension.

The sight of naked Freddie gracefully bouncing on top of him was something to die for. John curled his long fingers slightly, in the hope to hit a sensitive spot, and Freddie threw back his head with a loud cry. The sharp triangle of his chin glistened with sweat. In the warm light of a bedside lamp, Freddie’s skin was the color of midsummer honey. He was incredibly erotic, very flushed, and extremely hard.

By the sight of it, Freddie was actually getting close.

There was no way he could be allowed to get there without John being inside of him and sensing every second of it.

John withdrew his fingers, and Freddie wrinkled his brow in the discomfort of interrupted pleasure and opened his misted eyes.

“Please,” he panted, “Oh dear, why did you _stop_?”

“Because you can’t have all the fun,” John sat up, and in one abrupt push Freddie was forced down onto the bed, where he lay prostrated.

Then John felt around for the lube bottle and dropped it lightly on Freddie's stomach. Freddie yelped as the cool plastic connected with his skin.

"You seem to be good at lubing things," John grinned, straddling him. "Do you mind obliging?.."

In the semi-darkness, Freddie's smile glinted, and a mischievous look returned to his half-open eyes. Still trying to recover his breath, he uncapped the bottle, squeezed the stringy liquid onto his palm and did as he was bid.

John couldn't hold back a cry when Freddie's hand tightened around him, skillful fingers exploring every inch of his length. Freddie held his gaze, smiling coyly, obviously liking what he felt under his touch. His grasp was firm, and his thumb circled, rubbed and taunted, making John cry out again and again. He wasn't sure how long he would last.

Freddie bit his lip and intensified his movements, watching John's reaction hungrily. He had never seen John's tranquil face so distorted with passion. The thought that John was so over the edge for _him_ made Freddie shudder in anticipation.

Unable to wait any longer, he twisted around under John with an impatient moan and arched his back gracefully, glancing over his shoulder. A second later John slammed on top of him, pinning him down, kissing his nape.

" _Now_ you're mine," he breathed heavily in Freddie's ear.

Freddie slightly spread his thighs and writhed, seeking contact, aching for it.

Next moment he moaned in ultimate surrender when John pushed in.

Freddie’s warmed-up body was delicious. He squirmed in John’s hands eager to take more of him, to please, to belong. John had never thought that Freddie would be so… _reactive_. He was always the one who dominated the stage, the audience, the whole world around him. Seeing him equally passionate and yet submissive was completely out of this world.

Grabbing Freddie’s thigh, John subtly changed the position of his hips until he heard _that_ kind of cry again. It was exhilarating, picking Freddie’s secrets one by one, unravelling his mysteries, gaining power over his most intimate senses. Finding the way to make him tremble and moan for more, just moments away from complete exultation.

Aroused beyond words, John was moving deeper and harder with every thrust, all carefulness forgotten. He knew there were mere seconds left for both of them. The heat of Freddie’s body, his shrill breathy whimpers, the rippling and slapping of their flushed, slippery flesh were more than he could bear. Hips moving vigorously, John clung closer, brimming with lust and love.

"Please, John, please touch me," Freddie muttered without realizing that he was pleading out loud, "mm-oh, please?.."

John reached around to feel Freddie rubbing against the already damp sheet – a hot, twitching, swollen mess.

One tight squeeze was all it took.

Freddie exploded under his hand, fluttering like a captured bird, his gentle piercing screams blowing John's mind and setting him on fire. The wild pulsation of Freddie's flesh around him felt so heavenly, so intoxicating that John could only let himself go. He gave in to the sharp head-spinning bursts of the most intense pleasure he had ever experienced, and let his body shudder uncontrollably, unstoppably, still devouring Freddie, who was now breathless beneath him.

It felt like it was going to go on forever, but then it subsided.

Bliss still flowing through him like a torrent, John fell onto the bed, pulling Freddie close for a tender embrace. Feeling light-headed from what had just happened, John started stroking the sweaty black curls, the heaving shoulders, the soft thighs.

Freddie’s eyes were sparkling with pleasure and exhaustion. Maybe it was John’s deliriously clouded mind talking, but he felt that everything in life seemed possible when Freddie was so near, when he smiled like this.

“Did we just do it, for real?” Freddie giggled, suddenly shy. “Do you believe it?.. Do you?..”

“It definitely needs time to sink in,” John nodded, kissing his forehead. “But I’m not going anywhere, so…”

They lay motionless for a while, catching their breath, slowly taking in the mess of sticky crumpled sheets around them, but not caring about it in the slightest. It was _their_ mess. Their passion. It was perfect.

“Is anything going to change, what do you think?..”

“I don’t know, Freddie,” John cuddled him closer. “We’ll have to live and see.”

They shared a couple of slow, gentle kisses, so unlike the wild fiery ones of the last half an hour or so.

“Will I still be your friend?..”

“You’ll still be my _best_ friend, but I’ve grown so tired of trying to catch you between boyfriends… So can we just continue for a while with these not strictly _friendly_ things we’ve been doing, and see how it all goes?”

Freddie nodded and smiled dreamily, sleepily, unable to keep his eyes open. He felt so nice. He wanted to savour the moment and to talk for a while, but his exhaustion was overpowering. It was as if all the tension of the previous days and weeks suddenly let go of his body and left him drained – but incredibly peaceful.

“You do me good baby,” he muttered, finding a cozy spot in the nook of John’s shoulder.

John stretched out his arm and switched off the bedside lamp, then pulled the blankets closer.

“You know,” he whispered into Freddie’s hair. “I really _.._.”

Freddie didn’t answer. He was asleep.

John pulled the duvet over both of them, and closed his eyes too.

Freddie woke up to a blissful feeling of being completely warm. It felt so good – and so unusual – that he didn’t even want to move or to open his eyes for fear that the feeling would somehow slip away from him.

He could feel sunshine on his face again, but this time his eyes were shadowed from the light, and his brow was pressed to something very soft. He had a fleeting drowsy thought about his beloved cats again, but next moment he realized that he was being ridiculous: there were no cats, but instead there was an arm curled gently around his waist. It was a very warm touch, and the blanket was warm too, and so was the air in the bedroom.

Of course it was John. John always made everything all right.

Freddie opened his eyes a little and looked at his sleeping friend. John was lying on his back, one arm holding Freddie, another resting peacefully over the duvet. He was pouting slightly in his sleep, his face grave, like that of a concerned child.

Suddenly John took a deep breath and next moment he was looking sleepily at Freddie. The moment their eyes met, John smiled softly and rubbed Freddie’s back with his palm, holding him closer. Freddie felt a tingling shiver of excitement run up his spine, but it was muffled by the snug morning laziness.

“Hey you,” sparkles danced in John’s eyes. “Did you sleep well?”

“Marvellous,” Freddie stretched like a cat while John’s hand travelled all the way down his back and finally cupped his buttock.

It was getting _nice_ , this.

Still not completely awake, John buried his other hand in Freddie’s thick matted curls and pulled him close for a tender kiss.

“Would you like some tea?” John muttered, not taking his hands away.

“Mm,” Freddie nestled his face into John’s neck again and lay still.

In the silence, the clock ticked. John could tell that Freddie closed his eyes – he could feel Freddie’s eyelashes brush against the skin on his neck in one butterfly-light sweep.

John lay motionless for a while, and then he carefully slipped out of the snug embrace and laid Freddie down on the bed, pulling the duvet higher over him. Then he quietly got up, closed the curtains so that the sunlight wouldn’t disturb his gentle friend, grabbed a bathrobe and went downstairs.

In the kitchen, that was filled with early morning sunlight too, John picked up a neglected kettle from the dish rack and was about to fill it with water, when he saw that the tap was wrecked – just as Freddie told him last night. There was also some broken glass in the sink.

Momentarily wondering whether it was David’s doing or Freddie’s own tantrum, John removed the glass, picked up the pieces of the tap and set to work. It was _easy_. Soon the tap was as good as new.

John grinned at the thought that Freddie could actually take him on payroll in this household. The eternal battle of _art vs utensils and facilities_ could do with some reinforcement. 

Still smiling, John looked out of the kitchen window which opened into the tiny backyard of the house. The lawn was barricaded by heaps of old garden furniture and a few neglected crates. The untended grass was sprinkled with white and yellow dots of budding spring flowers, and the whole place had a quiet feel of an enchanted garden. John was sure Freddie hadn't even set foot there since he moved.

Suddenly John had an idea.

Scratching his chin, he considered it for a while. It was going to be the silliest, corniest thing he ever did. Absolutely pathetic. Ew. John was quite certain that these days nobody ever did anything like what he had in mind, not even if they were twelve.

Well, he was going to do it anyway.

Clutching the bathrobe tighter around himself, he pushed open the backyard door.

A few minutes later he entered the house again, dancing with cold, and quietly ran up the stairs to the bedroom. He was feeling like a schoolboy… that is, ridiculously happy, actually.

Freddie was breathing evenly. He was almost invisible under the duvet, only the top of his black-haired head was showing. John carefully bent over the bed for a moment, and then turned around and went back to the kitchen, treading softly.

Freddie didn’t remember falling asleep again, and his first thought on waking up was that John had left – but he soon heard the light clinking of cups being placed upon saucers and the cozy rumbling of a kettle. He thought about getting up and going downstairs to keep John company, but then he smiled coyly to himself and decided to wait until the tea was brought to him, nice and proper.

It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining, and Freddie felt good – he felt _right_.

He watched little specks of dust dancing in the stream of golden sunlight leaking through the curtains, and enjoyed the extremely rare occasion of not doing anything or thinking about anything in particular.

There would definitely be the time for songwriting, for partying wildly, for being crazy and drunk, for making all kinds of stupid mistakes all over again, for worrying sick, for fighting and making up. But right now Freddie knew it was the time to lie warm and snug upstairs in a sunlit bedroom and listen to the sounds of someone who cared about him pouring out the tea in the kitchen.

Freddie stretched, savouring the refreshing movement, and took a deep breath. He hadn't noticed it before, but the morning air in his bedroom smelled sweet, even flowery.

He gracefully rolled over and there he saw it.

There were a couple of freshly picked daffodil flowers on the pillow right next to his face. They were not the large, velvety golden daffodils you get in flower shops – just a few tiny, nondescript things with soft half-transparent petals, the kind that would sprout on their own in a garden that has never really been tended to. It’s quite a fact that these neglected, secret gardens would always grow to be the most lush and fragrant of all.

Freddie lay on his side and watched the flowers for a while. Then he put his hand under his cheek for comfort, curled up like a cat and lowered his fluffy eyelashes, tempted to doze off again for a little bit before John returns.

There was no mistake this time. The tediously long winter was about to melt away and finally be gone any day now.

The spring was just around the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! I really hope you enjoyed it a little bit, loveys. As you can see, it's mostly about love in the end... May this spring be full of love for each of you too:*  
> Thank you for reading - that's all I had to say for now story-wise, but if you need me you can always find me in IG at fairy_queenies.   
> xxx


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